The Lion's Medal
by JellyBabiesareDeadly
Summary: The (no longer) Cowardly Lion's most treasured possession is his medal. But what if it was taken from him?


A loud growl echoed through the trees as a large golden figure burst through the shrubbery. Dust rose up from the forest floor as the lion landed. He stood, his mane moving softly in the breeze. The medal that was pinned to his chest glinted in the late afternoon sunlight.

As he stood, tall and majestic, a strange expression flickered across his face. A stick snapped behind him. He whipped his head around, coming face to face with a small man brandishing a large club. The man sneered at him, and then glanced slyly at his medal. The last thing the lion remembered was a sharp pain and then blackness.

He woke up a few hours later with a throbbing headache. His vision was blurred and his fur was smeared with mud. He sat up slowly, clutching his head and groaning in pain. He felt about for his medal – he was sure he had dropped it somewhere. His paws felt the fur on his chest. The medal had disappeared. His keepsake and prized possession was gone. How would he cope? That medal meant everything to him. Without it he was nothing.

"That's it. I will find my medal no matter what it takes. Whoever has stolen it is going to pay," the lion said angrily.

With that he spun about on his heel and marched over to the small bushes his foe had burst out of.

He sniffed about in the bushes for a while. Suddenly, he spotted something very interesting. He carefully picked up a small skin bottle full of water. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it all over with great interest. He ducked his face down low to the ground and snuffled about, engrossed in the packed dirt floor. He darted over to a small clump of flowers, noticing that the petals had been crushed ever so slightly. Then he noticed something else. Small footprints had been made, leading right out of the forest. They had to be the robber's footprints.

He looked up with angry determination in his eyes. A low growl escaped from his mouth as he leaped forward and ran, following the tiny footprints into the sunset.

As night fell the lion ceased his running. He found a sheltered patch underneath the drooping branches of a weeping willow. He turned around twice, trampling down any sticks or stones that were sticking up. He settled down on the cold ground, tucking his tail up next to him. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke, the sun was already blazing down upon the forest. The leaves moved slowly in the morning breeze. The lion stretched out of his sleeping position, sitting up and yawning. He stood up and stretched again, wandering over to the small stream nearby. He ducked down and cupped some of the water in his hands, washing his face and waking himself up fully. He straightened himself up to his full height, drying his face with the tip of his tail. He shook himself like a dog and rolled his shoulders like a boxer preparing for a fight. He ducked down once more to the stream, taking a large drink. He decided to continue on his quest and stop by midday to rest, when the day was at its hottest.

He found the trail of little footprints and started up his running again. By midday the sun was baking the exhausted lion. He collapsed in the cool shade of the nearest tree. His eyes immediately drooped down and he began to snore softly.

When he awoke again it was getting into twilight, a few stars beginning to show in the purpled sky. He got up and began to creep about looking for food. He heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He turned around warily and saw a small rabbit snuffling about in the vegetation. He crept up very slowly towards the rabbit and pounced, killing the rabbit in one swift move.

After his satisfying meal, he settled down for the night in a small nook underneath some tree roots. The wind whistling through the trees and the gentle chirping of crickets lulled him gently to sleep.

He continued on this pattern for days, running by day and finding a new place to rest each night. He was nearing the edge of the forest when a thunderstorm struck. He decided to take shelter under a bush while the storm passed.

The storm lasted the whole night. Rain, thunder and lightning pounded the forest mercilessly. The lion, shivering with cold and fright, got almost no sleep that night.

But that night eventually came to an end. The sun rose and another blissfully warm spring day was ahead of him.

"I will reach the edge of the forest today," he said to himself.

By midday he had reached the very edge of the forest. The lion had never ventured out of the forest before in his life. How would he know what lay ahead of him? He mustered up all of his courage and took his first step away from his home.

As the day grew longer, he had hiked over fields, swam through rivers and snuck through prosperous towns. By the time night had come he was tired out and the forest was a mere speck in the distance.

By the time the sun had risen, the lion was awake and ready to start another day of searching. He set off over the fields of wheat and corn, creeping cautiously around the farm houses. By late afternoon he had met a dead end. The footprints had ceased to exist-they had been trampled down and were faded beyond recognition.

The lion fell to the ground in defeat. All that work, those days of exhausting hiking and running. Now he would never get his medal back.

But wait. What was that on the horizon? It looked like a small bubble. As the mysterious bubble drew closer, the lion began to realise what it was.

The bubble popped suddenly. As the tall, kindly woman strode towards him, the lion bowed his head in respect.

"Please, rise," Glinda said gently.

"What an honour it is to meet you, you're Majesty," the lion breathed in reverence.

"Please, just call me Glinda," she said kindly.

"Why have you come to meet me? I in no way deserve the honour of meeting you," said the lion humbly.

"I have been watching over your journey. Your determination has impressed me and I was so heartbroken when your one and only clue was destroyed. So I will help you with your plight. You will find your medal!" the good witch passionately promised.

The lion bowed deeply.

"I thank you with all of my heart. But, pray, how?" the lion asked.

"Just watch," she replied simply.

With that, she waved her wand about in the air three times. A small glass ball appeared, hovering in the air. The lion's eyes grew wide in disbelief.

"Gaze into the ball my friend. You will find what you are looking for," Glinda said softly.

As his eyes looked deeper into the obelisk he began to see images. A small man was sitting by a fire in a dark and dingy hut. He was grinning maliciously, rubbing his hands together with glee. As the picture focused further on the man, the lion began to recognise him. That was the man that had stolen his medal! The lion looked up at Glinda.

"That was the man that stole my medal! He will pay, wherever he is," the lion said angrily.

"Very well. But I have a few things that you will need first," the witch answered.

"What are they? I wish to leave as quickly as I can," the lion said.

"Have patience, my child. Here is a map of where you will need to go. Here is a phial of my finest healing potion. I have also packed a warm blanket and a skin bottle of water into this satchel," she said wisely.

With that she kissed him gently on the brow and bade him farewell.

As the lion watched Glinda's bubble float away into the distance, a newfound hope rose up inside him. He now had all that he needed to find his medal. He felt ready.

He was eager to begin his journey, but practicality was more important. First, a good meal was needed. The lion stowed the map and phial safely away in the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He then began his hunt.

An hour later the lion went back to the spot where he had met Glinda holding three plump rabbits by their ears. He hid his satchel and his dinner underneath a small bush nearby and went off in search for some firewood. When he got back to his camp the day was growing late, the sky beginning to fade into black.

He fetched two small pieces of flint and some dry twigs and bark for kindling. He worked hard for half an hour and by the time his stomach began to grumble the fire was snapping nicely. He skinned the rabbits quickly and neatly, burying the skins a few metres away. The rabbits cooked quickly and he ate them hungrily. He then fetched the blanket from his pack. He rolled it up tightly and tucked it behind his head. With his stomach full and the grass cool beneath him he fell quickly into a deep sleep.

The next day was cloudy and dark, but it did nothing to dampen the lion's enthusiasm. He poured some water from a nearby stream over the still smouldering fire and packed his blanket neatly away in his satchel. He took three long gulps from his skin bottle. Thinking it would be nearly empty, he walked over to the stream to fill it up but found that it was still brimming. He shrugged it off and walked back over to his camp, placing the bottle back in his satchel. He took out the map and unrolled it carefully. The lion studied it for a minute or two then decided to head west for the mountains. The map was rolled back up neatly and stowed away carefully in the satchel. He cinched the buckles on his satchel tight, securing the clasps carefully.

He set off to the west, excited and hopeful. He would find his medal. He was sure of it.

After a week the lion had made good progress. He had crossed the Frordor Mountains without trouble. He was without injury or sickness, his eyes still bright and full of hope. Now he had to cross the perilous Swamps of Malgool, rumoured to swallow men whole. Needless to say, he was frightened and hesitant. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was his medal, and if he had to risk life and limb to find it then so be it.

A month passed. The lion had traversed the swamps successfully, and had made it across the Desert of Doria with only a few sunburns to show for it. He was only a day away from his destination. Finally. He would slay the dastard that had pinched his medal and return home victorious.

He decided to set up camp for the night in a small clearing on the edge of Ranegorn Forest. As he began to build up his fire, a thought crossed his mind. What if the man no longer had his medal? It had been over a month since he had seen the scene in Glinda's obelisk. Maybe the man had sold it for food, or melted it down and turned it into something else. How dare he! He would find his medal on the morrow. He would not let it get into another's hands ever again.

As the lion cooked up his dinner, more and more thoughts of what he would do to the man flashed about in his mind. Within an hour, he had finished his meal and was ready to go to sleep for the night. Resting his head on his satchel and wrapping the blanket around himself tightly, the low crackling of the fire sent him into a long, deep sleep.

By the time he awoke the morning was growing late with the afternoon looming upon the day. He quickly put out the fire and gathered up his belongings. There was no time for breakfast. A quick swig from his skin bottle (which he had discovered was inexhaustible) and he was off. Today was the day he would get his medal back.

He had ventured deep into the heart of the forest by the time evening had come, following the map faithfully. He reached another clearing when he saw it. There! In the shade of a large willow sat a squat house with a thatched roof and rough mud walls. He glanced at the map to be sure. This must be the place! He rolled the map up and placed it in his satchel. He steeled himself for the attack, ready to strike.

He marched with determination in his eyes across the clearing, slamming his paw forcefully into the wooden door of the hut. The door splintered and fell inwards, landing on top of a still smouldering fire pit. The lion, growling in rage, stepped over the broken door and into the hut. The man stood in surprise, barely reaching the lion's beard. The lion picked up the man by the neck of his shirt, shoving him up against the wall.

"If you show me where my medal is right away, I will make your death as painless as possible," the lion said through gritted teeth.

The man pointed weakly to a small shelf on the other side of the room. The lion dropped him roughly on the floor, crossing to the other side of the hut in haste. There it was! Months of walking, running and swimming, all for this moment. He reached down, and, with trembling fingers he pinned it on his chest. He turned around once more, remembering the man.

The man had stood up while the lion was fetching his medal. He now brandished a small knife. Blood dripped from his head onto the earthen floor.

The lion walked over to the man warily. The man made a lunge for the lion with his knife, aiming for his throat. The lion hit the knife out of his hands with one swift move. The man was dead before the knife hit the ground. The lion, true to his word, had killed the man quickly.

The lion walked out of the hut swiftly, an air of guilt about him. As he crossed the clearing and retrieved his things, the guilt became worse. A sorrowful expression crossed his face. By the time he was well clear of the hut his mane had become wet with tears. What if the man had a family? What if he really did need that medal to survive?

"What have I done?" the lion moaned in sorrow.

He dropped his satchel in a hurry and sprinted back to the clearing, bursting into the hut. The man lay in a pool of blood on the floor. A small swarm of rats clustered over the man. The lion shooed them away, tears streaming down his face. The lion picked up the corpse and carried it out of the hut, laying it on the grass tenderly. He then walked back inside the hut to fetch a shovel when he noticed something. A small piece of paper lay on a desk crammed with inkwells, nibs littered over the surface. He picked up the piece of paper. Small, flowing script covered the page. The lion read:

_My darling Tom, it has been so lonesome here without you. I realise that you have travelled up country to find work for yourself, but is it really worth it to sacrifice our happiness for money or luxuries? The children both miss you greatly. I hope that you are well and that we will be able to see you soon._

_Love Catherine_

As the lion read the letter, his weeping became more intense and heartfelt. All Tom was trying to do was provide for his family, and now they had no one. The lion dropped the shovel and picked up the small knife that Tom had earlier. He walked outside and stood next to the small body. The lion, still weeping copiously, took up the knife and ran himself through with it. Together the lion and the man lay, almost peaceful. The nearby trees took notice and as their blossoms began to cover the bodies, they merely looked as though they were resting, caught up in a deep slumber. When the winter snows came the bodies were covered up. Buried deep within Ranegorn Forest, the lion was soon forgotten.

_50 years later..._

A young boy and his father, bundled up in coats, trudged through the deep snow covering the forest floor. The boy stepped clumsily into a deep spot in the snow. Crying out to his father, he looked down. What was this? The boy thrust his gloved hand into the snow, and pulled out something unrecognisable and covered in icy mud. He stuck it in his pocket as his father pulled him out of the hole.

"What did you find Harry?" the father asked curiously.

The boy pulled the object from his pocket and held it out to his father, who took it and began to wipe the mud off.

"What is it Da?" the boy asked quietly.

"It looks almost like a medal. It's still shiny, looks brand new. It must have been buried here for years," the father answered.

"Can I see?" Harry asked excitedly, snatching it from his father's hands.

"Does it say anything?" said the father.

"Not much. Just "_Courage_"," answered Harry.

"Well, it's probably not worth much anyway. Throw it away," the father said.

The boy threw it carelessly over his shoulder. He and his father trudged away, while the medal lay forgotten and lost. Many years passed by, seasons changed and people came and went. No one took any notice of the medal. It was trodden into the ground, squashed and crushed until there was nothing left but a misshapen piece of metal. Only one thing on the medal was still discernible.

_Courage._


End file.
